


The Celebration Of Twilight

by Srs (requiesticat)



Category: Pocket Mirror (Video Game)
Genre: 1800s culture, F/F, F/M, goldia does not appear but is mentioned, implied shipping, pocket mirror spoilers, takes place after the events of the game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/requiesticat/pseuds/Srs
Summary: One day, Enjel approaches the Strange Boy with an odd request. She plans to invite the girls to a party she is throwing, and must visit them all in order to obtain their favor.





	1. Götterdämmerung

Servant girls were not supposed to explore outside their chambers, but Enjel did anyway.

Of course, she wouldn't get in trouble if she went exploring in the first place. Her world held the simple pleasures of a child's crayon drawing, but it was so much more than a few scribbles on paper. Everything had been filled in with a decadent explosion of color, and the artist had practically painted a stage, carpeted floors plush and scarlet beneath Enjel’s shoes. It stood out against the backdrop, black as pitch and marked like chalkboard, with occasional cut-outs hung superimposed from an invisible ceiling that seemed to stretch into nothing, presumably for show if not decoration. She never bothered to find out, for the cut-outs were blocked off by satin curtains just waiting for the call.

Whenever she wandered the hallways that looped and never ended, the angel found that she stood out most against the walls. Eventually, she'd grown used to this, just as she grew used to the doors of all shapes and sizes, and the rooms filled with a whimsical menagerie of treasures, seemingly waiting to be discovered by eyes still bright with wonder. In one room, there was a forest clearing set around a lake. Simplistic apple trees sprouted from grass dotted by generic pink flowers, butterflies clamoring to sip nectar from within their jagged petals. A silver unicorn stood near the water, admiring its reflection. The sun smiled down upon blobby clouds with a sketched-in face. In another room, a storybook cottage sat at the far end of paths lined with large tulips. Inside were humble little chambers, patiently awaiting the arrival of weary travellers. Drawers had been emptied, beds were made, and toys were arranged neatly in a large chest. The grounds outside were littered with amicable pumpkins waiting to deliver rehearsed lines and jokes only a sentient gourd would find humorous, but she didn’t like them much.

Bad jokes and pumpkins. They were _his_ idea of a good time, not hers.

A long time ago, Enjel had begun living in that cottage. She’d left her belongings there, and felt at peace despite the clutter that had accumulated over time. Her life was that of a nomad, for she’d once spent most of it walking ever-changing worlds, searching for the equal promised to come, and the subsequent validation that accompanied such a fabled meeting.

Here, though, she could rest. Here was a place she felt at home. Noone could take that from her.

Not even the demon boy.

Enjel grimaced. Right now, she felt like she was being watched, and merely thinking about the culprit made her cringe. She walked faster, increasing pace as she made the long trek to a familiar hall.

Kosmich was a bastard, and one with an annoying laugh at that. He regarded his underlings leisurely with unfathomable cruelty and wit sharp as his toothy grins. His moods changed on an unpredictable dime. But despite such things, the fiend spun straw into gold, and that was something he could be given credit for. His magical prowess was enough to impress even the likes of Enjel, as much as she hated him.

Sometimes. Kosmich was her creator, and while he did awful things, not all of them were for selfish reasons. He’d assisted that amnesiac girl in finding herself, hadn’t he? And he gave the others homes as quick as he could make them. High-rise manor houses, rooms cluttered polished floor to dulcet ceiling with the most expensive furniture one could buy. Fine nouveau architecture. Endless hallways. Winding staircases. Trick doors that lead to nowhere.

 _I got mirrors,_ Enjel thought. _And kiddie drawings._

She stopped walking. Raised her left hand to look at a pointer finger that no longer existed. If it did, it would be crooked up, bent towards her. Gauze wrappings encased what remained of the first digit, tied with a neat bow.

 _And_ **_this._ ** _He took my finger, just as he took my wing. Lord, I hate him!_

Beset by sudden rage, she glared at the bandaged stump, a prim scowl contorting her delicate features. The wrappings were not bloody; she changed them frequently. But sometimes, she could swear to feeling her finger, whole and unsliced. It was right _there,_ and the buzzing sensation in that area was so alien- so odd and painful- that she had ripped them off in a feverish, desperate haze, only to wince at the sight of fractured bone peeking out of exposed muscle.

Spirit limb. That’s what they called it. Enjel was fascinated by the outside world to the point of constantly badgering Komisch about it, when she had just been made and young enough to not know better. Asking questions like _“Are carriages really pulled by horses?”_ and _“Who made the pocket mirror?”_ Out of sheer annoyance, he’d conjured a room with a dozen bookshelves and waved her off. Enjel had received novels as gifts before, thanks to him doting upon her from the very day she was born. But they were undeniably simplistic, and held only basic information. Drawings simple as the theater.

These books were new. She spent enough time in that place to realize that they held all the answers to her questions, including the fact that rooms of such a nature were generally referred to as _libraries._

And Enjel had been enlightened.  
  
She kept walking until she came to an orange door with ivy woven into the cracks in its surface. A pleasant glow shone from triangle-shaped notches, arranged to resemble a jack-o-lantern's face.

She reached for the brass knob. Paused. Took a deep breath, and pulled the door open so she could step inside.  
  
There he was, sitting on a throne looming over the talking pumpkins that were his advisors. If Enjel's world was a coloring book, the strange boy's was a theatre, complete with satin red curtains and a polished, wooden stage gleaming under candlelit spotlights.  
  
Komisch looked like a frail teenager, albeit one dressed in fancy robes, but it was unwise to believe the facade that was his human body. He had the power to create life, and could easily destroy it as soon as he'd made it. Fleta, Harpae, and Lisette were his creations. Goldia was his, until she'd woken up from the nightmare he'd trapped her in and returned to the insane asylum. Enjel was his. And she served the strange boy as his right-hand woman. In a way, he held total domain over her as her master, and yet she was the only one who could criticize him and live to tell the tale.  
  
The demon propped his head up with a fist, his grin glasgow, sharp teeth entirely visible. His smile seemed to widen when he noticed Enjel. She could not see his cyclopean eye under the brown fringe of his bangs, but felt a  judgemental stare regardless, and shuddered under its weight. He didn't appear to notice.  
  
"Hello, Enjel," Komisch greeted her with a condescending tone, per usual. "What brings you out of the mirror and to my quarters?"  
  
Enjel could not exist outside of her world except for being summoned in mirrors. That fact was something she'd learned to tolerate from her creator, since he reminded her of it so often.

Cautiously, Enjel spoke up. "I've come here because I wanted to request an empty room, sir. If you give me permission, I will reserve it."  
  
"Oh, really? What will it be used for?"  
  
She hesitated. Eventually smiled and gave a tentative answer. It was the first time she had adopted a hopeful expression upon entering this room.  
  
"I want to host a celebration… one where I invite Harpae, Fleta, and Lisette.”  
  
There. It was out. She no longer had to keep the thing secret that she had been keeping for months on end.  
  
In response, Komisch looked amused. "A celebration? Whatever for, dear girl?" he inquired, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Is our home being a veritable smorgasbord of _theatrics_ and _whimsy_ not enough for you?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"No, not at all. I just..."  
  
_Think fast_. Panicking, the angel reprimanded herself mentally, thoughts frantic. _You've got to have a better excuse for this._ Suddenly, an idea came to her.  
  
"To tell the honest truth, I'd like to spend more time with the other girls. It seemed like I only got to know Enjel before she-"  
  
"Goldia," Komisch interrupted.  
  
"Yes, yes. _Goldia_ must have a thousand names by now," Enjel said distractedly. Before Goldia discovered who she used to be, her true name went unknown by many, to the point where Enjel even began sharing her own title with the amnesiac girl.  "Anyway... will you allow it, sir? If not, I promise I'll just stop asking about it. I would really like to invite Fleta, Harpae, and Lisette over for cakes and tea, however… we owe them that.."  
  
The angel nearly made herself cringe as she pleaded her case. Begging like this was something she usually tried to avoid doing. Her style no longer involved taking things by force (like that damned pocket mirror), but she really and truly did want to visit the strange boy's other playthings, so to speak.  He remade them all after they shattered into the glass of character and memories. They were owed explanations. News of Goldia's triumphant breakthrough.  
  
Beyond that, it was tiring serving someone all the time. The lack of social contact and  abusive treatment at the strange boy's hand made her wish desperately for "normal" social interaction. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, and acted nice in the false way she used to, the girls would be willing to befriend her. A nice thought, but it wasn't reality.  
  
Not yet, anyway.  
  
Enjel thought that Komisch wouldn't take the request seriously, but to her surprise, he didn't laugh it off.  
  
"Sure. I will permit this party, if your goal really is to throw one." He gestured to regal-looking exits, still grinning like a cheshire cat. "I'll have a room prepared for you tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow?_  She knew going against his word would get her in trouble, but she didn't care. What was he going to do, take another one of her fingers?  
  
Enjel's hands clenched at her sides. "But that's too late!" she complained, feeling indignant. "I need it today-"  
  
Komisch rolled his eyes. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Enj’." He picked up the skull staff he always carried and jabbed it at her. Enjel practically had to dart back to avoid being hit in the chest. "Especially if that horse eats fingers for breakfast." He sniggered before continuing, ignoring protests from his offended servant as he set the staff down. "Either you settle with the time I have allotted, or you don't get the room at all. It's that simple."

"But-"  
  
Enjel was all ready to put up a fight. Just barely, she was able to coax herself into calming down. An expression hard as stone met a condescending, judgemental look a few minutes later.  
  
"Fine," she muttered. Turned around, and stalked off. High-pitched laughter echoed behind her, making her flinch.  
  
The angel looked somewhat morose when she left the strange boy's room. But when the door shut behind her, her frown turned into a radiant smile.  
  
"Yes!" she cheered, pumping her good fist in the air. Even if Komisch had been difficult, he still gave her what she wanted in the end.  
  
And he didn't know half of the reason behind it. Enjel walked away with a spring in her step and celebrations on her mind.  
  
She would visit them all. Spoiled little Fleta in her pink palace. Righteous Harpae in her manor. Poor, tortured Lisette in her broken obulette. And she would get what she wanted from the girls, whether they cooperated or not.  
  
Before, Enjel hadn't wanted much to do with them. Now she was hurrying back home, eager to skip up the path lined with tulips and disappear into her room.  
  
There was work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After playing Pocket Mirror, I have to say: Enjel used to be my least favorite character. I wrote this story in an attempt to become fonder of her and to understand her character a little better. There's also a twist involving the Strange Boy, who has a punny name in this story. Like Enjel, his character is also analyzed in the text, and he receives closure that fans would likely not expect him to receive.
> 
> Looking forward to Little Goody Two Shoes, if it ever comes out. I may do a fanfic interpreting what happened to the de Heilige family.


	2. Weh mir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Rammstein - Ohne Dich](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIQkJsVycgw)

_Ich werde in die Tannen gehen_  
_Dahin wo ich sie zuletzt gesehen_

The angel could traverse the realm of mirrors as if she owned it. But the demon was its true creator, and he (vaguely) knew of even her most obvious moves. No matter how the situation went, his word was law.

He would stop her if she angered him. So she had to dance on tenterhooks around the mysterious teenager who created her. Never coming and going without permission. Even speaking wasn't allowed out of turn.

 _Ohne dich kann ich nicht sein_  
_Ohne dich_  

But she stopped first.

Looking glasses glittered before her, hovering a few inches above the ground as if aerodynamic, set intricately in rows of panels upon panels. Some were rectangular and tall, others circular and squat. They were certainly a sight to behold, even if you had to squint to catch the mirrors behind all the others. A darkness claimed and faded them into distance long unseen. It was no coincidence that these bore smudge marks amongst cracks and rust upon golden frames.

This mattered little to the demon. Not nearly as much as it did the angel. He'd left every building in disrepair, not even glancing at them unless some hapless stranger stumbled upon their cobwebbed, rotting premises.

Approaching the tallest mirror, she thought of the people he had abandoned just as callously. Girls around her age, maybe even younger than that.

_Mit dir bin ich auch allein  
Ohne dich _

The smallest one knew only a rich life. A bratty child spoiled recklessly by her parents, prefering frivolous things to reality. Guided by a doll who, instead of being cowed into submission, actually liked dangling from those pale arms. But she had naught a figure to educate her beyond that, and it was, in all honestly, hard to believe the girl hadn't shattered first. Her arrogant façade only lasted as long as her desire to be loved.

 _Auf den Ästen, in den Gräben_  
_ist es nun still und ohne Leben_  
_Und das Atmen fällt mir ach so schwer_

Then, the angel's thoughts directed to the most trustworthy source.

Here was a mature lady who needed little guidance. Rather, she preferred to take on the role of a caretaker, and an efficient one at that. Even the lack of sight didn't stop her from taking every graceful step, or envisioning a future. But it had to intertwine with the life of another, or she would grow desperate. Her body ached to serve that someone. If the worst happened, and no cautious guest ever stopped by her manor, she functioned listlessly without fuel.

 _Doch der Abend wirft ein Tuch aufs Land_  
_und auf die Wege hinterm Waldesrand_  
_Und der Wald er steht so schwarz und leer_

Unlike the other two girls, the third needed noone. She relied on nobody but herself, hiding away in a realm of mirrors much like these. It was dark and harrowing, a deranged mockery of a circus filled with traps, dead ends, the shattered remains of golden scissors. Most people would be terrified of such an unpredictable, cluttered maze, but the maiden considered it her home, and knew every jagged hallway well enough to traverse them with barely-contained stealth.

She was the apex predator. A scapegoat blamed for everything. And she could wait forever.

The angel knew who she wanted to visit first. Despite her nervousness, she stepped into the mirror before her, taking the place of her reflection.

Then it vanished, leaving only the faintest of ripples behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rammstein is one of my favorite german bands. Metal music doesn't really fit Pocket Mirror, but I think of the game whenever I listen to their songs. 
> 
> I considered using "Mutter" or "Klavier". However, this song obstensibly suits the tone and characters more, in my opinion. For an analysis of the lyrics, [go here.](http://affenknecht.com/lyrics/rammstein-ohne-dich-lyric-with-english-translation/)


End file.
